


Coffee and Camomile

by Corycides



Series: Interdicted Intentions [2]
Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-05
Updated: 2012-12-05
Packaged: 2017-11-20 08:15:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/583202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corycides/pseuds/Corycides
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It takes time for scars to fade. Emily and Spencer try to re-connect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coffee and Camomile

The problem with being a genius with a professional and personal interest in behavioural science was that you tended to see through your own shit. Which sucked, because your shit was there so you didn't have to see the truth about things.

Spencer knew that the prank war with Morgan was because he was angry/jealous/resentful that Morgan was able to just accept Emily being back. He knew that he wasn't OK with JJ yet, and that pretending he was gave him a sick little thrill because she thought she could manage him? He could even track the psychology behind being mad at her and not Hotch, the need to punish them both by playing them off against each other.

So it was disconcerting to sit outside Emily's (new) apartment and not be entirely sure why he was there. He hunched over the table, all bones and angles under sweater and tweed, and sipped his camomile tea.

Not coffee. Coffee was a migraine trigger and cutting it out of his diet was part of how he was 'managing' his headaches. It hadn't decreased the frequency, but it gave him a thin sense of control. He could accept that.

Across the street Emily stepped out of her front door, smiling at the doorman and buttoning up her coat to the throat. Nothing exceptional, nothing concerning, to her face or her hands. It was a very good mask. Only someone like him would register the fact that she deliberately fumbled buttons to give her time to scan the street, or that she had to steel herself to step outside.

The last months had left scars on her too. Spencer hunched his shoulders until he could feel tendons ache and closed his eyes. He hated himself for being pleased about that. What sort of man was he that he had to weight scars and aches until he judged their suffering even?

He supposed he wasn't really surprised to hear the chair legs scrape on the tiled floor or feel warm, rough fingers squeeze his hand.

'Headaches still bothering you?' Emily asked.

Not 'why are you spying on me' or 'how strange to see you here'. He'd always liked that about talking to Emily, her mind worked at odd angles and, with him, she didn't bother to pretend it didn't. He absently rubbed a knuckle over his temple.

'Not so much,' he said, looking up at her.

Her hair was sleek and shining, framing a square, strong face. When they first met he'd thought her severe, humourless. It was the jaw and the wary set of her mouth in repose. Then he'd seen her smile. It took over her face, softening all the angles and making her wide, dark eyes look beautiful instead of just wary.

She wasn't smiling tonight. Even though he was still mad at her, he wanted her to.

'Sometimes,' he admitted and was rewarded with a hesitant fold of her lips. So he punished her for that. 'They were worse when you were...away.'

The smile faded again. Spencer winced and ducked his head, staring down at his hands around the cup. Stupid. Illogical. Crazy?

He hated the word. It was pejorative, offensive. He would have verbally taken apart anyone who used it about his mother. But it was the word that came crawling to the surface when his head was throbbing so much he wanted to dig his fingers in his ears and scoop out chunks of his brain.

Crazy, crazy Spencer Reid. No better than the people he caught.

'Coffee,' Emily told the waitress. 'No milk.'

She waited until the woman walked away, rubber soles squeaking on the tiles. 'This is the third week running you've been here. I'm not going to go disappear again, you know.'

He started to snap that she was wrong, only to realise that she was a little bit right. It wasn't just that, probably not even mostly that, but knowing where she was made that anxious little bubble in his chest a bit calmer. Not that he let that stop him.

'Like I care.'

She cat-smiled at him, smug. He sneered and slouched back, twisting his mug around and round in his hands. He counted the seconds it took for the handle to make a complete revolution.

'The doctors think it is psychosomatic,' he said tightly.

She cocked her head and didn't say anything right away, trying to read him, weighing her responses.

'Just because it is psychological doesn't mean it's pathological,' she said. 'When I am nervous I pick my nails until the beds bleed. On a suspect that would be a behavioural marker.'

''With my family history?' he said. 'If I was a suspect, you don't think that would be a significant development.'

She didn't lie to him. 'Maybe,' she said. 'Doesn't mean it is though. Look at your life, Reid. All the horrible things we see, who can blame you for getting sick of shining a light on things?'

'You sound like a therapist.'

Emily wrinkled her nose and sniffed. 'No need to be rude.'

It made him laugh, catching him by surprise. He nearly dropped the tea, slopping liquid over the side. Setting it down he took the napkin she handed him, wiping his fingers off carefully. She waited patiently.

'Don't leave me again,' he said quietly.

'I don't plan on going anywhere,' she said.

'No,' he said. 'I don't mean 'don't go'. People keep leaving me behind, Emily. My Dad, Gideon, Elle, you.'

'I didn't want to.'

'But you did,' he said, voice stony, and she sat back to let him finish. 'So if you go anywhere, Emily, you take me with you. Understand?'

She nodded, eyes wide and earnest.

The waitress brought her coffee and they sat silently, tense but not unfriendly. Spencer still wasn't sure quite why he was here, but it was better. A little better.


End file.
